Life Before Death
by MizuKaji
Summary: The legendary thief Youko Kurama harbored many hidden truths. She was a secret that he took with him to his grave. Her name was Kiyoko...
1. Standstill

The legendary thief Youko Kurama harbored many hidden truths. She was a secret that he took with him to his grave. Her name was Kiyoko.

…

Rain gently pelted the level field broken only by pale stone markers. A tight cluster of people lingered around one such pillar, where the ground lay freshly turned. Cut flowers adorned the site. Lit incense filled the roof of its small cover with sweet-smelling smoke.

A woman drew near, the heels of her beige leather boots clicking softly on the stone pathway. An umbrella twirled above her head, shielding her face from view. She paused just beyond this small gathering. She did not belong here, but he had. There in the soil, he was finally where he belonged. To think that the great thief would develop such a love for humanity; that he would go so far as to let old age take him. It was so absurd that she had no choice but to believe it.

Most of the people who stood around the stone were elderly, and they shivered in the cold. A few who were younger wandered among them. Not a single face was familiar. A wife? Children? Had he had the chance to experience such things?

But she had already stretched her time here past its limits. Her umbrella stopped mid-spin. Bowing her head, she touched a knuckle to her brow. "May our souls meet again someday," the woman murmured in a voice barely audible.

The woman turned to leave. "Who are you," a harsh voice commanded, stopping her in her tracks. Hair the color of butterscotch fell over her shoulder as she turned her head to meet inquisitive red eyes. They demanded answers; threatening to dredge them up from the depths of her own grey pools. The man with eyes like blood was cloaked head to toe in black, with the exception of the white bandana that stood out starkly beneath hair the color of pitch. He looked young, in his twenties, but she was not fooled. And neither was he. How could they fail to recognize one of their own?

"I am no one of consequence," the woman said in a low voice, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. She resumed her pace, umbrella twirling gently in her hands. The man watched the back of her tan trench coat recede into the distance, as the mist took her.


	2. Hereafter

Hello, I must apologize for my rude behavior in not introducing myself from the beginning. And now, for a word about this story of mine:

This tale begins at the end. We return to the past life of the legendary thief Youko Kurama, discovering his story in short clips (Each look will be approximately 500 words). After much deliberation, I have decided to stray from chronological order. What fun is a story without a little mystery, after all. It is up to the reader to piece this story together, and discover just who was this Youko Kurama.

Why did Youko Kurama begin thieving? How did he become a thief of legend? Why does his counterpart, Shuichi, have red hair? What did the Makai look like a thousand years ago? Just who is this woman Kiyoko?

All this and more shall be answered. Stay tuned. Till next time…

…

The silver-haired thief sat in a dark corner of the bar he had frequented those many years ago. The old, familiar building was long gone, but in the same spot a new one had arisen. Sharp golden eyes darted about his surroundings as he surveyed his handiwork. Where a prestigious city had once thrived there now was only chaos. Middle-class demons crowded between disjoined buildings as they shoved their way down the cracked and dirty cobblestone street. Dark clouds floated across the sky and lightning crackled far overhead, but such weather had been considered normal in the Makai for the past millennium or so. There wasn't a noble in sight. A shadow passed briefly over the thief's face, before the ugly look was carefully smoothed out. His nose twitched as a long-remembered scent approached.

"A thousand years to the day," he said and chuckled lightly. A glass of thick red wine swirled in his hand.

"I try not to keep people waiting," the woman replied. She stood before him looking almost exactly as she had when they had parted ways. Hair the color of toffee tumbled over the shoulder of her tan trench coat. Beige leather boots clicked softly as she approached the table. Only her eyes had changed, become narrower, their grey seas looking like they had seen their share of storms.

"Have you given further thought to my offer?" the thief asked, the slight upward turn at the corner of his mouth betraying him. Even without asking, he knew her answer. The glass of wine clinked on the tabletop in unvoiced triumph as it left his hand.

"Would I have come otherwise?" she responded calmly as she seated herself across from him. She propped her closed umbrella up against the table.

The thief smirked outright, but his expression soon dropped into dead seriousness. "You look exactly the same," he mused, leaning forward on his elbows across the table as he stared deep into her eyes. Folded hands brushed his chin ponderingly.

"You, on the other hand, look like another person entirely. Had I not known it to be you, I wouldn't have recognized you as the same boy," the woman said as she studied the man in front of her, head cocked to the side. The silver hair, the white tunic… All had changed, everything but his eyes.

The thief leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "I was surprised at how quickly you identified me," he stated, a strange smile returning to his face.

"Everyone knows of you, Youko. You shouldn't act so surprised," she retorted, causing a frown to tug at the corners of his mouth. He snorted and turned away, signaling a waiter to come take the woman's order.


	3. Manifest

Bright white moonlight illuminated the delicate garden. Lilting music wove its way through the air. A boy sat on the edge of a large, pale stone fountain that twisted in a graceful design as it reached toward the heavens. Droplets of water gently tinkled as they fell in streaming cascades down to the lowest basin. He looked into the rippling surface, a young face staring back at him. The boy appeared to be in his middle stages of growth before his development arrested, putting him around half a century old.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a soft voice addressed him from across the clearing.

The boy nearly fell straight into the fountain as he jerked in surprise. Finding his grip on the ledge, he twisted his torso around to face the voice. With widened eyes like molten gold, he beheld what appeared to him as the most beautiful woman his innocent eyes had ever seen. She looked to be barely an adult, somewhere just beyond her first century of age. A flowing, gauzy dress of the purest white draped from her shoulders, grazing the path beneath her feet. Her arms were bare, but for golden bangles encircling her wrists. She had no distinguishing features to mark her as belonging to any one type of demon.

"Who are you?" the boy demanded, golden eyes narrowing. For a moment all manners were forgotten; it was not his place to ask. By all rights he shouldn't even be here, in this garden tucked away between the houses of the nobles.

The young woman was unfazed. "I am no one of consequence," she replied simply, as she studied the boy. He was clothed in black, and his pale face stood out sharply against the dark of the night. Golden eyes pierced the somber grey of her own sharply. Messy red hair framed his face, sticking out just past the set line of his jaw. A set of matching ears and tail designated him a fox demon.

They were unmoving, as statues in the garden, tension bridging the distance between. The moment was suddenly broken as a searching voice called a ways off, wafting across the grounds: "Kiyoko." It did not escape the boy's notice that the voice was distinctly male.

As if coming out of a trance, the woman inclined her head toward the boy, hair of pale amber brushing gently against her collar. "I must be off," she said and disappeared down the path, not even sparing him a backward glance.

Against his better judgment, the boy followed, keeping to the shadows. Strong fingers gripped the white marble posts of the balcony as he peered between them. His eyes followed the young woman, Kiyoko, across the room, as the man on whose arm she was leaning put her through her paces, showing her off to the other guests as one would a common animal. Prized, but his to control, nonetheless. Nothing more than a pretty face.

She danced beautifully that night, a porcelain doll twirling round endlessly. For a brief moment their eyes locked, grey on gold. His breath caught in his throat. She turned her head away. The moment was gone, but the feeling of electricity as it raced up his spine remained. The boy dropped silently from the balcony into the darkened garden below and swiftly vanished.


End file.
